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Authors: Mindy Klasky
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behind his back and break it. Goody Glenna herself had punished Reade, but even her ear-boxing wasn’t as bad as Winder’s punishment would have been.
Reade understood what Duke Coren’s fingers meant. Even if the People didn’t have raiders, even if they hadn’t stolen the lambs, Reade must stay quiet.
“You see,” Duke Coren was saying to the red-faced woman, “that poor girl denies her people’s raiders because she is terrified by what she has seen. She’s been frightened to the point that she will lie outright. You can imagine how shocking it must have been for her, for both these poor children, to learn that the parents they had trusted, the People they had loved”—the duke lowered his voice, whispering his last words as if he meant for Maida not to hear him—“the People they had loved intended to slit their throats like newborn lambs.”
No! That wasn’t it at all! The inlanders were missing six lambs. Mum had said that she wanted to cook something other than fish. Mum loved lamb. The People might have come to take the inlanders’ meat. But hurt Maida and Reade? Slit their throats?
Reade would have to explain to Duke Coren. Reade would have to let him know that the woodsinger did not really collect children’s blood for the Guardians. She threatened a lot of things, but most of them she never followed through on.
Reade would tell the duke the truth. But he would wait until later, until the people in the tavern were no longer listening. After all, Reade wouldn’t want them to laugh at Duke Coren, to think that the duke had been foolish. Not when he had been so kind to Reade and Maida. Not when he had saved Reade and Maida from Crusher.
Duke Coren continued talking to the people in the tavern. “My men and I longed to carry all the children away, for we feared their fate if the outlanders could not find enough innocent lambs to slaughter. Alas, these were the only two we could save.”
Only two? Now Reade was more confused than ever. He was the Sun-lord, Duke Coren had said, and Maida was the Sun-lady. Had the duke’s men tried to take other children from the seashore? Had they tried to bring other children with them, to the inland? Were there other lords and ladies among the People’s children?
“These were the only two,” Duke Coren repeated and his voice shook. Reade looked up and saw tears in the man’s eyes—tears! Then the duke pulled Reade close, putting his strong arms around the boy’s shoulders. For just a moment, Reade held back, certain that he should wait, that he should explain, that he should make everything clear. Before he could speak, though, he realized that Duke Coren’s embrace felt familiar. It felt safe.
For just an instant, Reade thought that he was back in Da’s arms. Without thinking, he threw his own arms around Duke Coren’s waist and buried his face against the soldier’s hip. The man smelled different than Da—he smelled of leather and horse, not of sea and fish. But all the same, when the duke pulled him close, Reade thought he would burst into tears.
The fat woman’s voice trembled, and she clucked like one of the goodwives back home, like a woman fussing over Reade’s skinned knees after one of his countless accidents. “Sit down, you poor souls! Let me bring you something hot from the kitchen.”
She hesitated only a moment, clearly wondering what to do with the still-sobbing Maida, but Donal stepped forward at a nod from Coren. As the soldier awkwardly gathered up the little girl, Reade saw that his sister was red-faced and exhausted, as if she had run a footrace or climbed the cliff to the Tree a dozen times. Her sobbing faded away as the soldier drew her to a bench, and she collapsed in her crumpled golden finery as if she were ready to fall asleep immediately.
The aproned woman was only gone for a few moments, and she was still shaking her head as the duke and his men tucked into great bowls of lamb stew. The men tossed back ale as if
Reade understood what Duke Coren’s fingers meant. Even if the People didn’t have raiders, even if they hadn’t stolen the lambs, Reade must stay quiet.
“You see,” Duke Coren was saying to the red-faced woman, “that poor girl denies her people’s raiders because she is terrified by what she has seen. She’s been frightened to the point that she will lie outright. You can imagine how shocking it must have been for her, for both these poor children, to learn that the parents they had trusted, the People they had loved”—the duke lowered his voice, whispering his last words as if he meant for Maida not to hear him—“the People they had loved intended to slit their throats like newborn lambs.”
No! That wasn’t it at all! The inlanders were missing six lambs. Mum had said that she wanted to cook something other than fish. Mum loved lamb. The People might have come to take the inlanders’ meat. But hurt Maida and Reade? Slit their throats?
Reade would have to explain to Duke Coren. Reade would have to let him know that the woodsinger did not really collect children’s blood for the Guardians. She threatened a lot of things, but most of them she never followed through on.
Reade would tell the duke the truth. But he would wait until later, until the people in the tavern were no longer listening. After all, Reade wouldn’t want them to laugh at Duke Coren, to think that the duke had been foolish. Not when he had been so kind to Reade and Maida. Not when he had saved Reade and Maida from Crusher.
Duke Coren continued talking to the people in the tavern. “My men and I longed to carry all the children away, for we feared their fate if the outlanders could not find enough innocent lambs to slaughter. Alas, these were the only two we could save.”
Only two? Now Reade was more confused than ever. He was the Sun-lord, Duke Coren had said, and Maida was the Sun-lady. Had the duke’s men tried to take other children from the seashore? Had they tried to bring other children with them, to the inland? Were there other lords and ladies among the People’s children?
“These were the only two,” Duke Coren repeated and his voice shook. Reade looked up and saw tears in the man’s eyes—tears! Then the duke pulled Reade close, putting his strong arms around the boy’s shoulders. For just a moment, Reade held back, certain that he should wait, that he should explain, that he should make everything clear. Before he could speak, though, he realized that Duke Coren’s embrace felt familiar. It felt safe.
For just an instant, Reade thought that he was back in Da’s arms. Without thinking, he threw his own arms around Duke Coren’s waist and buried his face against the soldier’s hip. The man smelled different than Da—he smelled of leather and horse, not of sea and fish. But all the same, when the duke pulled him close, Reade thought he would burst into tears.
The fat woman’s voice trembled, and she clucked like one of the goodwives back home, like a woman fussing over Reade’s skinned knees after one of his countless accidents. “Sit down, you poor souls! Let me bring you something hot from the kitchen.”
She hesitated only a moment, clearly wondering what to do with the still-sobbing Maida, but Donal stepped forward at a nod from Coren. As the soldier awkwardly gathered up the little girl, Reade saw that his sister was red-faced and exhausted, as if she had run a footrace or climbed the cliff to the Tree a dozen times. Her sobbing faded away as the soldier drew her to a bench, and she collapsed in her crumpled golden finery as if she were ready to fall asleep immediately.
The aproned woman was only gone for a few moments, and she was still shaking her head as the duke and his men tucked into great bowls of lamb stew. The men tossed back ale as if
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